


Hunting Partners

by Numbus26



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Byleth is Bad At Romance, Dorothea is a Shameless Shipper, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22309840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Numbus26/pseuds/Numbus26
Summary: One of the advantages of having a goddess who ruled over time in his head was an incredibly accurate internal clock. So when Byleth said that Petra had tracked him and put a knife to his throat in 24 minutes and 17 seconds, not counting his 10 minute head start, he was certain of its accuracy.A life as a mercenary has left Byleth constantly on edge, his senses finely tuned to detect foes. So why is Petra always able to surprise him? Hoping to answer that question, he enlists her to go with him on a hunting trip into the Northern Forest—with himself as the prey.
Relationships: Petra Macneary/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I got Three Houses recently, and I've been enjoying it a lot. And I've been workshopping a few different fic ideas for it, as you can probably tell. 
> 
> There'll be a bit of setup here so I can introduce all my particular headcanons for Byleth and the various students that appear in this story, but I'm not planning on stretching things out *too* long. I just hope you all can stomach long conversations, since that's basically all the first three chapters or so are gonna have to offer.

Byleth rarely dreamed, except when Sothis saw fit to call him into her domain. Even before that, he had always been a light sleeper—mercenaries rarely had the advantage of having ‘off hours’, and his handful of months as a teacher hadn’t been enough to dislodge that long-entrenched habit.  
All this to say, of course, that he was not one for oversleeping. Or sleeping through things. He was not the type to spend his mornings drowsy; he had trained himself—well, to be accurate, Jeralt had trained him—to be fully alert from the moment his eyes opened.  
Despite this, he was somehow still surprised to hear the quiet voice of one of his students interrupt his slumber.

“Professor? Are you being awake?” Petra. She was one of his more attentive students, and if he was to be honest with himself, one of his favorites—someone he could see making a living as a mercenary, if the princess thing didn’t work out for her.  
“I am now,” he spoke through the door as he rose. “Did you have a question on the material I assigned?” It was barely dawn—he hadn’t thought any of his students were _that_ devoted to studying with him. He debated bothering to reach for his jacket and shirt, but decided against it. Sothis was right; he had no need to be so wary.  
“I, well…” her voice trailed off as he opened the door, catching an eyeful of his bare chest. “I have hearing that today is the day of your birth,” she began, looking up at him cautiously. Who had told her that? It wasn’t as if it was a secret, but he’d never made a point of mentioning it. “I am being told this by Dorothea,” she explained. “If she was incorrect, I have apologies.” Oh. He had forgotten to respond again.

“She wasn’t,” he stated. “Why are you bringing it up?” And where had Dorothea learned it? Manuela, most likely; the former songstress was a heavy drinker, and he could imagine her and his father drinking together—Jeralt was known to wax on about his son when he was in his cups.  
“In Brigid, this is something that is celebrated. I know that this is the same in Fódlan.” She smiled slightly, a victory for her knowledge of the customs of this strange land.  
“It is.” He had made sure to be aware of the important birthdays around here, making certain to send flowers or invitations to tea to students of his house, certain knights, and students outside his house that he wanted to coax into his class. But he couldn’t quite see how his birthday affected Petra.  
“Dorothea told me that I should be celebrating this with you.” Her eyes flicked sideways for a moment, following a squirrel moving across the roof of the dormitory.  
“Did she now?” He’d need to have a talk with Dorothea about that. “Did she mention why?”  
“Yes. I did not have understanding, though. Perhaps you can be of help, Professor.” He remembered to nod this time, and she continued. “She had told me I should see you early, before anyone else had. She had said I should ‘steal a march on the others’,” she explained, with full air quotes. “Do you know what she was meaning, Professor?”

“Yes.” He let out a silent sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He would need to have a special talk with Dorothea about that. “To ‘steal a march on’ someone or something is to gain an advantage, often unexpectedly or secretly.” She tilted her head, seeming puzzled.  
“I… have understanding. Of the phrase. But I do not have understanding of the meaning she had by saying this. How would _I_ gain an advantage by celebrating the day of _your_ birth? Being secret or otherwise.”  
“I’m not quite sure either,” he lied, thanking his natural expressionlessness for once. Petra glanced at him suspiciously, but relented.  
“Still, I offer my regards to you on the day of your birth. I…” she glanced down at her empty hands apologetically. “I was not bringing a gift. But I will be finding one if you are wanting.” Her gaze turned steely, ready for any request he could make.  
“You don’t have to do that for me. But thank you for the offer.” He hoped he was smiling properly. “It means a lot just to hear that.” He wouldn’t know what kind of gift to request, anyways.  
“I am thinking that you are not telling me something,” Petra stated, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why are you not wanting a gift?”  
“I don’t keep much,” he stated with a shrug. “I wouldn’t know what to do with more things even if I had them.” He’d never been much for personal effects; traveling light had never been anything but an advantage. Most of what he owned he could carry in a single pack, and he had made it a policy to keep no more than what could fit on a horse. Perhaps his fishing pole and tackle box pushed him over the edge, but he was willing to make one exception.  
“Is there a thing I could be doing for you, then?” He really didn’t understand why she was pushing so hard. It was just a day, same as any other. He let out a long breath, looking past her as guards were beginning to move. Too much longer and people might begin to assume things—seeing him half-dressed, conversing with one of his students in the wee hours of the morning.  
“How about this, then. I’ll think about if there’s anything I might want or need, and if I think of anything, I’ll tell you, and that will be your gift. Does that work?” he asked.  
“If that is what you are wanting, then I will be agreeing." She nodded solemnly.  
“It’s a deal, then. I’ll see you in class in a few hours, yes?”  
“Yes, Professor. I will be seeing you then.” Hopefully next time he would be fully dressed.


	2. Chapter 2

Morning classes were tactical exercises, today—Byleth may have been the one leading them on their monthly missions, but all of them needed to understand how to plan for a battle, if only to be able to grasp their role in it.  
“So,” he began, pointing at the map. “Studying the Battle of the Eagle and Lion in the year 1124, can anyone point out the major tactical mistakes the Blue Lions’ house leader made?” Maps were one of the greatest luxuries of his new position—his father had kept an accurate, detailed map of all Fódlan during their tenure as the mercenary company, one of the most expensive things he owned.  
The monastery was full of such luxuries, at least to the eyes of a poor mercenary. Though he supposed that was what nearly a millenium of being the center of Fódlan—spiritually, economically, _and_ geographically—would get you. 

“Study the battles I outlined, and try to come up with ways the commanders could have acted differently in order to secure victory. Understood?” A chorus of agreement echoed from his class. “Very well. Dismissed.”  
The students rose almost as one, gathering their textbooks and shuffling towards the door. He caught the back of one student who’d been pointedly avoiding his gaze the entire lesson.  
“Ah, except for you, miss Arnault. Please hold on a moment.” Dorothea started, freezing in place at his suddenly cold tone. The students parted around her, a few offering sympathizing glances at her.  
“Professor? What is it?” Her fingers brushed through long hair, straightening it nervously. He sighed, shaking his head.  
“I won’t beat around the bush. Why did you send Petra to my room this morning?”  
“Oh.” She covered her mouth as she laughed. _“That.”_  
“Yes,” he frowned. “ _That._ Would you care to explain why I woke up to her rapping on my door at dawn?”  
“At dawn? She certainly is diligent,” she whispered to herself. “Ahem. Well, perhaps she took it a bit further than I intended. I had… merely suggested that she make certain to offer you regards today,” she said carefully.  
“Why?”

“I… it _is_ your birthday today, yes?” she asked, seeming confused at his question.  
“Yes.” She didn’t seem to grasp it, so he continued. “I wanted to know why you sent her in particular.”  
"Oh, good. I was afraid I'd gotten it wrong. Happy birthday, professor."  
"Thank you," he nodded. "But you haven't answered my question.  
“Oh, right. You know, I hadn’t pegged you for the oblivious type, Professor.” She looked him up and down, analyzing him. “Though you are rather hard to peg as _any_ type, honestly.”  
“Oblivious? How so?” He hadn’t recalled missing anything important. Dorothea sighed, rolling her eyes.  
“I had thought it obvious. Or perhaps I heard the wrong rumors.” At his puzzled gaze, she continued. “Well, you haven’t heard those, obviously. But everyone is talking about you. The wielder of the Sword of the Creator. Bearer of the Crest of Flames.” Her voice was thick with false reverence.  
“I’ve heard _those_ rumors.” But it sounded as if Dorothea was listening to different sources. “People talk,” he shrugged. He was used to it.  
“Hm. You don’t seem to,” she muttered, in a tone perhaps not meant for his ears. He narrowed his eyes at her slightly, and she jumped a bit. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”  
“I wasn’t offended. But you seem to be.” She waved him off, trying to abate his intense stare.  
“No, no. I just…" she let out a sigh, realizing she couldn't escape this one. "You certainly don’t say much, do you? As a teacher, you’re excellent, and in battle, you communicate effectively. But outside of that…”  
“Oh, I’m sorry. If you’d like me to speak more, I will make the effort. Jeralt has always said I’ve been this way as long as he could remember.” Being taciturn seemed to be his natural state.  
“Well, you’re a good listener, at least. I can’t say as much for half of my dining partners,” she joked. “But we’re losing the thread, here. While there are certainly no shortage of rumors and speculation about your peerless strength, tactical mind, and ferocity in battle, I happen to be more concerned with rumors of a different nature.” It took him a moment to figure out exactly _what kind_ of different nature.  
“Ah, yes. You spoke with me not long ago about how you hoped to find a good husband here.”  
“Right. So I keep a close ear to the vine for romantic rumors. And, well… there are quite a few about _you_ lately, Professor.” She seemed amused, which at least made one of them.  
“If you say so,” he sighed. “I don’t see where Petra enters into this, unless someone is spreading rumors about her as well.” If someone was, measures might need to be taken. He would do the same for any of his students, of course.

“Goddess, you’re impossible. I’ll explain it simply, then. I hear through a friend of mine that you’ve been tutoring her quite closely recently, yes?”  
“She has trouble with the language, so she has many questions to ask me. I don’t see what’s abnormal about that.”  
“On its own, nothing is strange about it. But!” she raised a finger triumphantly. “As I listen to another little bird, who heard it from someone else, Petra has more tattoos beyond the one beneath her eye.”  
“Yes, she had told me about those. Did you not know?”  
“She doesn't often visit the sauna with us. But what’s interesting is how _you_ know. What my birdie told me is that you, Professor,” she jabbed him in the chest with her raised finger “asked to see those marks of hers.”  
“I did,” he nodded. “I was interested; I’d never met someone with tattoos before.” And he couldn’t deny curiosity about the culture of Brigid as well. Dorothea seemed to be a bit stunned by his frank admission.

“Professor. _Please_ tell me you’re aware that a gentleman doesn’t generally ask a lady to expose her bare back and arms to him. It's generally something you don't do outside of an intimate context." After a moment, she added "Or sunbathing."  
“I am aware of that, yes.” Why she would think him ignorant of such a simple fact was beyond him. “Though, to be honest, I had not considered how the remark may have sounded to others.” Petra hadn’t seemed offended, at the least.  
“So when _that_ rumor came around, well, I figured I finally had a place for you in the big chart I’m making for everybody’s romantic inclinations.”  
“You’re making a chart for _that?_ Wouldn't your efforts be better suited… I don't know, _studying?_ ” She startled, her cheeks coloring slightly.  
“What? No, of course I'm not making any charts. That was obviously a joke, Professor.”  
“If you say so.”  
“It’s the only real piece of evidence I had to go on. For perhaps the third most eligible bachelor in Garreg Mach, you don’t act it.” He was tempted to ask who numbers one and two were. Claude and Dimitri, perhaps?  
“And what about Petra? Are you considering _her_ feelings in this?”  
“Regrettably, she doesn’t seem to like gossiping about love. You’re together in that, at least,” she remarked with a smile. "So, as I said, only one piece of evidence between the two of you."  
“Would you rather I talk about love more? Or maybe I should imitate Sylvain? Or Lorenz?” Dorothea let out a sudden laugh, perhaps picturing it.  
“No, no. One of them is more than enough. I wouldn’t want you to be anyone but yourself, Professor, even if it does unbalance my charts.”  
“The ones that don’t exist?”  
“The very same,” she nodded quickly. “In any case, I thought you and Petra would make a fine match. Did you think otherwise?” Clearly she wasn’t going to let up until he had considered it. But he had an ace up his sleeve.  
“I can’t entertain any thoughts like that. I’m your teacher, it would be improper of me.”  
“I didn’t hear a no!” she half-sang. “Don’t worry, Professor. I won’t get in the way of your _forbidden love._ ”  
“Dorothea.” He was serious about this. It would be beyond inappropriate for him to misuse his position in order to coerce a student. “Besides, I don’t think I’m that much of a commodity.”  
“Perhaps you wouldn’t think so,” she shrugged. “You’ve met Ingrid, right? Has she told you about her situation yet?”  
“In passing,” he nodded. “She’s seeking an advantageous marriage, using her Crest as leverage.” He’d heard something about her family entering talks with a rich merchant recently.  
“It’s quite sad, yes.” She seemed to have read a different emotion into what he’d said. “Consider yourself the opposite.” As his questioning look, she continued. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed yet, but there are letters coming in for many of the young heiresses around here. They’re willing to leverage their noble houses and names to gain your Crest.” She let out a chuckle. “It might make for a fascinating opera, one day.”  
“I’m not much interested in titles or estates.” Nobles had it easier, to be sure, but he wasn’t aiming to marry into money. He wasn’t sure he was aiming to marry at _all,_ to be honest.  
“Yes, I can see it now. It’s a classic set up for a love story. The disaffected guard, or teacher, in this case, and the foreign princess who teaches him how to love.” He let out a frustrated sigh. It seemed nothing he said could convince her to abandon the thought of it.  
“You are _dismissed_ , miss Arnault,” he breathed. “I have afternoon classes to prepare for.” She left with a self-assured smile he found a bit infuriating, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Outside, Dorothea grinned to herself, humming a lullaby as she walked. She’d succeeded in planting the idea, at least. Though given how oblivious the professor seemed to be, he would probably need some more pushing. Sylvain and Hilda had no idea who they were messing with, making this bet with her.


	3. Chapter 3

Hours later, Byleth was practicing alone in the sparring yard. At his level, dummies weren’t much use, but most everyone else seemed to be busy with other things right now. Even if they weren’t, he had some frustration to work off—most of the students were still at a level where he had to hold back during sparring. Though maybe Felix would have accepted an invitation—the boy seemed almost masochistic at times.  
There was a dull impact as his blade struck down his false foe, and he paused, wiping away sweat with a hand cloth. Honestly, just where had Dorothea gotten the thought that he had any feelings for Petra? And was she even considering Petra’s own feelings in any of this? Even if she ‘didn’t like gossiping about love’, he doubted that Dorothea hadn’t been able to figure _something_ out—her and Sylvain seemed to have their fingers on the pulse of romance in Garreg Mach. Seteth had even mentioned rumors of a betting ring in passing, one on which students or knights would get together during the ball in a few months. 

While it was frustrating, perhaps part of the fault was on him. He hadn’t considered how the long tutoring sessions might have appeared to others, nor how his casual curiosity might have been taken. Perhaps he should distance himself from her? No, he couldn’t just avoid answering her questions. As her professor, it would be shirking his duty. He could try to make a statement clarifying the truth? But that hadn’t worked well with Dorothea, and he doubted the others would take it any better. It would read more as an admission of guilt than one of innocence.  
He let out a breath through his nose. It was amusing that his most difficult tactical situation so far hadn’t been any of the battles, but instead a misunderstanding like this.

“Professor.” He whirled, pointing the wooden blade at the source of the sudden sound.  
“Oh. Good evening, Petra,” he nodded. How had she snuck up on him? “What is it?”  
“I was having wonder—wondering,” she corrected. “Have you found something yet?” It took him a moment to remember what she was talking about.  
“Ah, for my ‘gift’? No, not yet.” It’d only been a few hours. What was she expecting? He realized he was still pointing the training blade at her, and lowered it. “Though I’d be thankful if you taught me how you always manage to surprise me,” he whispered.  
“What was that?”  
“Nothing.” He moved to return the training weapon to the rack. “Is that all?” She tilted her head quizzically.  
“You are worrying about something.” Again, he suppressed an instinct to jump a bit at her accurate assessment.  
“Could you tell?” Others had always had trouble reading his expression.  
“Yes.” She nodded affirmatively. “You are seeming nervous.”

“…how?” Even Jeralt couldn’t read his body language or expressions most of the time. Petra shrugged.  
“I… am not having the words to explain. It is… almost being like an instinct, to me.” That was certainly a rare skill.  
“That’s interesting.” He couldn’t help but remember his conversation with Dorothea, her remark that he and Petra would make a good match. No, there was no way she would’ve known about that. Again, he was glad that he was naturally expressionless, not having to work hard to suppress the slight blush. “Yes, I was worried about something. It’s good that you asked—it concerns you as well.”  
“Oh!” She leaned forward. “I have not been doing anything wrong, have I?” He took a small step back, trying to maintain a respectable distance.  
“No. I wanted to make you aware of rumors that have been circulating.” This was awkward. “About the two of us.”  
“Hm? I have not been hearing of any rumors.”  
“Even so, there are things I’d like to clarify.” He cleared his throat. “Normally I wouldn’t bother responding to these things. Still it could have an impact on your future. As your teacher, I’d like to prevent that.” She nodded, but clearly wasn’t completely following. “For one, the rumors that the two of us are… romantically involved.”  
“Ah.” Red blossomed across her cheeks.  
“Yes. Obviously this isn’t true, but it needs to be addressed nonetheless.”

“I am in agreement,” she stated slowly, glancing around the training yard nervously, her eyes flitting back and forth between him and the weapon racks.  
“I wanted you to hear this from me, not others. Clearly I can’t silence the entire rumor mill.” Though given how she kept looking at the weapons, perhaps Petra was willing to make an attempt. ”But I want to apologize. I haven't been maintaining a proper professional distance between us. I'll endeavor to improve in the future.”  
“Endeavor to… I am sorry, I am not having understanding.”  
“To endeavor to do something means—” he started, but she stopped him.  
“No. I have understanding of your words. I am not having understanding of what you are meaning.” She shifted from one leg to the other, running a hand along her braid. “Why would you need to be increasing the distance between us?”  
“As a teacher… it could be seen that I had less than professional feelings towards you. And even without that, you’re here as a… representative of Brigid. I don’t want anything I do to damage your position.” Especially given that it was so fragile already.  
“I am thankful for that,” she said, inclining her head slightly. “But I am still not having understanding.” She paused. “I am thinking this may be a difference of Fódlan and Brigid.”  
“Perhaps.” Honestly, he didn’t really want to get into explaining the problems with the imbalance of power. “But that’s about all I had to talk with you about. I’m sorry for keeping you.” She shook her head.  
“It is not a problem. No one has been saying these rumors to me. I will have to be thinking on this.” And then, almost between blinks, she was gone again, barely making a sound. Goddess, how did she _do_ that?

One of the stranger habits Petra had picked up during her tenure as a ‘guest’ of the Empire was that she had lately found herself thinking in the language of Fódlan. Perhaps she should be taking it as a sign of her growing mastery of the language, but she still felt a bit odd about it. It was like she was losing her connection to her homeland. At times, she wished dearly that she could return—not that she disliked being in Garreg Mach, of course. She had friends here, learned things she could not have learned in Brigid, but she could not help feeling homesick.  
Perhaps she could write a note for the confessional about it. She’d heard from her classmates that they occasionally received insightful responses; maybe whoever was providing them would know of a cure for homesickness. 

She sighed, straightening the paper on her desk. She was allowing herself to be distracted from the task in front of her. She had to remind herself—her goal was to strengthen Brigid’s position as a vassal of the Empire. The stronger she became, the more she learned, the better she could accomplish that task. That started with finishing this homework.  
Still, as she dipped the pen in the inkwell, her eyes fell across the letter she had found in her room upon her return. The official seal of Brigid in the wax had felt heavy in her hand, and the words within were even heavier.  
Small matters, at first. The weather—the monsoon season was upon them in Brigid already. The Empire’s ‘ambassador’ having taken a shine to some of the native birds; apparently their plumage appealed to her. It brought some small joy to imagine that, the stone-faced third sister of Marquis Vestra dancing around in bright feathers.

Then what came next drained it away. Her grandfather had asked her if she would consider using the opportunity being at Garreg Mach granted her—mixing with nobility from all corners of Fódlan—to find an advantageous match. It was not an obligation, merely a request. Yet still, it gave her pause to consider. Everything she did here was to fight for Brigid, to claw back some scraps of freedom from the Empire’s closed fist. She would do _anything_ to help her home.

At least… she had thought so. She didn’t understand why this request was causing her so much turmoil. She had learned the nature of the nobility along with the language in Fódlan. None of them had a ‘storybook romance’ ahead of them. For the nobility of Fódlan, marriage was practical. It was a tool to be used, to unify houses and bloodlines. She knew this, as surely as she knew how to tell the coming of a storm by the taste of the breeze. Still, just as she could not stop her heart from aching for Brigid, despite its irrationality, she could not stop feeling conflicted about this.  
To say it was confusing was an understatement. She lay the pen down—clearly she would not be making any progress with these exercises tonight. What she needed was somebody who knew something about matters of the heart. Of the professors… Professor Hanneman was known for loudly declaring that he had only ever loved Crests, which wasn't really what she needed. And though Professor Maneula was always talking about relationships, it was mostly in the context of not having one. So… perhaps not the best choice. Who else did she know who may have experience in this field?

“Nnh. Petra?” The door swung open slowly, and Dorothea yawned softly, shielding her eyes from the light of the torches still burning outside. “It’s late.”  
“Is it?” she asked, turning her eyes to the sky. Though the stars were different here, it was similar enough for her to tell the time with some accuracy. And given the position of the moon, it was not even midnight yet. “I have apologies if I was disturbing you. I was wanting advice with something.”  
“It is,” she yawned. “I was getting ready to sleep. But for you, darling, I’ll graciously sacrifice some of my beauty sleep. Come in.” How could sleep be beautiful? The language of Fódlan was as puzzling as ever. Still, she followed Dorothea inside. She had already removed her uniform, replacing it with lighter night clothes—perhaps why she didn’t want to have a conversation at the door. Though the professor hadn’t really minded this morning. The standards of modesty in Fódlan were confusing as well. Noticing her still standing, Dorothea nodded at her chair. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” she nodded. “I am sorry to be bothering you at a late hour.” If it was considered so to her, it would be rude to disregard her opinion. “But I am having questions about something, and you are the person I know best who would be having answers for me.” Dorothea plopped back onto her bed, relining with a catlike grin.  
“Something I’m good at, hm? It must be something specific if you’re coming to me instead of your favorite professor.” She must have made a strange expression at that, because her friend laughed softly. “Only joking, dear. What is it?”  
“You are the person I am knowing who is the most educated about romance,” she said, her tongue still struggling with some of the words. “I…” her eyes fell. “I am having conflicted feelings about this matter.” Dorothea’s eyes shone as she leaned forward.  
“ _Well._ Now I’m certainly not bothered. Tell me all about it!”  
“I do not think it is enjoyable,” Petra remarked, narrowing her eyes at her. While she was glad for her expertise, she wasn’t sure she liked her making light of the situation. “But very well. My grandfather was sending me a letter earlier today, and within he asked me to consider… finding a husband.”  
“Right. So is he asking, or telling?” A bit of steel in her tone—Dorothea was well aware of the situations some of their classmates faced. She shook her head, assuaging her fears.  
“He is only asking that I consider the idea.” A sigh slipped from her lips. “But still, I feel troubled. I would be doing anything for my home.” She meant it to sound informative, but the words came out sounding almost as if she was trying to convince herself, at this point.  
“But _that_ seems like it’s going a bit far? I didn’t know you were the romantic type,” she teased. Receiving only stone-faced silence in return, she continued. “Honestly, that's completely normal.” Dorothea sat up, laying a comforting hand on Petra’s arm. “Don’t feel bad for feeling this way.”  
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath. She supposed this feeling was more common among nobles of Fódlan, who often had to face this issue, so it made sense they would know about it. 

“Maybe I’m not the best person to consult about this,” she muttered softly. Catching her raised eyebrow, she explained. “Edie would definitely tell you to swallow your worries and do whatever was necessary. But… I don’t think I can.”  
“Why not?” Dorothea gave her a small smile.  
“I’m a bit of a romantic, too. Maybe it’d be better for Brigid if you sought out an advantageous marriage, but would _you_ be happy like that?”  
“My happiness is not mattering. Only Brigid is.” Her classmate frowned, brows knitting together.  
“You shouldn't talk like that. You need to value yourself more.” The sudden frankness of her tone left Petra reeling.  
“I… was not knowing that you were feeling that way.” She didn’t think she valued herself incorrectly.  
“Well, I am. You talk a lot about the good of Brigid, but what about your own feelings? Stop thinking about Brigid for a second. What do _you_ want, Petra?”  
“My own wants? I…” She had never really thought of that. Her own desires had always been synonymous with those of Brigid. That is, until now.  
“I won’t disagree with you if you say that this is what _you_ want, but making a decision like this just out of a sense of duty is wrong.”  
“I have never thought about my wants before.” If her wants and those of Brigid differed, what would she do?  
“Well, maybe you should start,” she breathed. “It may be a bit cliché,” she began with a wry smile, “but you should follow your heart more. In both romance and in other things.”  
“Follow my heart?” For once, she thought she understood the metaphor. Maybe Dorothrea was right.  
“Just… think about it, is all I ask. There _is_ such a thing as being too selfless, you know.”  
“I… have much to be thinking about. Thank you, Dorothea.” She rose, replacing the chair at her desk. “Again, I have apologies for bothering you at such a late hour.”  
“For a friend? It’s no trouble at all.” While her tone earlier had been light and teasing, Petra could tell she was being genuine now. “Have a good night.” The door closed softly, leaving Petra to head back to her room alone with her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still here, but the chapters are coming a bit slower. We'll try to get into the actual namesake of the fic next chapter, if you're worried about that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a few more characters turning up here, which I hope I'm not mistreating in any way. Maybe Seteth comes off as too cold, but I'm playing his sternness for comedy a bit here, so I think it fits. There's also a couple OCs showing up that I'm not even gonna bother tagging, since they're only in the story for a couple of paragraphs here, as a device to get the story moving. Specifically, into the hunting trip itself, which will lead us into the actual romance part of the story. I hope you're excited for it, because I am.

Byleth still found it ridiculous that he was supposed to be grading history papers. He was probably the least learned of the staff—even Seteth would be more suited to this than he, had he the time. Though… perhaps this was one of Rhea’s plots. She seemed intent on making sure his education on the history of Fódlan—and the Church of Seiros, in particular—was as perfect as possible. Even so, he found it frustrating at times. He could understand his position as a combat instructor—the training exercises this morning had gone well enough—or as a tactics teacher, but he was a fish out of water when discussing history or literature. He had never seen much virtue in books of poems or fictional tales of knights, no matter the ‘cultural impact’ Hanneman had spoken of.

He rubbed his temples, trying to stave off an oncoming headache. Reading for hours on end had always made his head swim, the words dancing on the page. Reading these papers, checking every one three times for mistakes? He felt ready to pass out.  
Still, he forced himself to continue, at least until the ‘finished’ pile exceeded the ‘unfinished’ stack. Then he allowed himself to stop, stepping away from the desk. He could afford a bit of a break. Alone, preferably. Maybe a spot of fishing?  
Unfortunately, as he headed over to the pond, it became clear he wasn’t going to get his way—it seems that people had gotten out of the dining hall earlier than was typical.

“A-ah! Pro-Professor?” He could feel a timid glance from one of the dormitory rooms. Bernadetta’s door was slightly ajar, the shy girl seeming different than usual—her normally messy hair seemed as if she’s run a brush through it, and her uniform seemed freshly cleaned. “C-can I…” she muttered. Getting her meaning, he approached. It must’ve been important if she was actually considering leaving her room without a tongue-lashing from her house leader.  
“What is it?” He tried to modulate her tone—while she didn’t seem to be as frightened of him as she was of other men, he tried to be as accommodating as possible to all of his students.  
“I-I just… um, I—” The door slammed shut before he could reach it. “I can’t do thiiiis!” she moaned, and he heard a dull impact as her body fell against the door.  
“Bernadetta? Are you alright?” He stepped up, leaning against the frame of the door and speaking into the small space between it and the door. It was a tactic he’d learned through days of attempts to instruct or converse with her through a slab of wood.  
“I’m sorry!” she whimpered. “Please don’t hate me! I just… my f-father told me to! And I can’t… I can’t e-even…” Unconsciously, his hand drifted to the ancient blade on his waist. Foolishness. He didn’t even know how well-defended Count Varley’s territory was.  
“It’s fine. I don’t have any reason to be angry at you.” He really wasn’t good at soothing people. “There’s no need to worry.”

It took a few minutes for him to gently extract exactly what Count Varley had told his daughter to do, and to calm Bernadetta down enough to get her promise to attend class tomorrow. Now, crumpled within his grip was a curt letter from Count Varley, the exact contents of which he didn’t wish to repeat—even within his thoughts. That the Imperial minister would _order_ his daughter to seduce a teacher… he should notify somebody.  
Still, it forced him to recall his conversation with Dorothea yesterday, and her statements about how noble families were starting to take interest in securing his Crest. He had thought it ridiculous at first, but…  
He shook his head, discarding the thought. He would definitely have to have a conversation with whoever was in charge of handling mail around here. Clearly this letter had opened up old wounds for Bernadetta.

Of course, by now his enthusiasm for fishing had waned somewhat, but watching the placid waters of the pond was enough to chip away at the anger filling him. He had pulled a small crate aside, hopefully sturdy enough to bear his weight, and taken a basket from the dining hall, full of freshly caught fish in need of boning and cleaning. It was bloody work, but he’d never really minded it—menial labor like this gave his mind time to rest. And he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed having the opportunity to taste the fruit of his labor. Er. The… filet of his labor? That sounded stupid.

As a consequence of his single-minded focus, he failed to notice the people hovering around him for far longer than was typically polite. There were a few unassuming coughs and _ahems_ from a boy standing beside him, attempting to draw his attention. It was only once he’d finished deboning the loach in front of him that he fell out of his routine.  
“Oh. Hello.” He didn’t recognize any of the faces in the small group. “Am I bothering you?” he asked, noting that one girl was covering her mouth with a handkerchief.  
“The smell… isn’t great,” one of them admitted. He supposed most nobles weren’t used to the smell of fish guts.  
“I can go elsewhere if you’d like.” He wouldn’t mind.  
“No. Uh, that’s not what I wanted to ask." The boy in front with the meticulously straightened uniform glanced at the others. "Er, what any of us wanted to ask."  
“Professor! Would you—” One of the others spoke up, a young woman in the back.  
“ _Isabel._ I was here first,” the first boy hissed. “It’s common courtesy to let me make my proposal before starting yours.”  
“Oh, come off it, Markas. You’re not going to convince him to marry you or your sister with courtesy and platitudes.” another spoke, the slight scoff in their tone belying the venom dripping from their words. Oh. Was _that_ their aim?  
“Why, you little! The mere child of a knight should not—” ‘Markas’ whirled on the others, and they quickly collapsed to arguing amongst themselves. More people with more noble ideals than sense, this group. Fortunately, their quarreling left them so focused on each other that they didn’t notice when he snuck away.

He returned the cleaned fish without much of a fuss, fortunately. Though he did notice the group dispersing as he did, most likely to search for him. Well, that wasn’t of too much importance. He should probably get back to work regardless.

“Ah, um, Professor?” He gritted his teeth, nearly snapping the quill in his hand. Normally he wouldn’t be annoyed at the interruption, but this was the third time within an hour. To be precise, it was the third such knock on his door in the last 31 minutes and 42 seconds, according to Sothis’s amused counting.  
“One moment, please.” He took a breath, making sure he wasn’t showing any outward signs of frustration. Still, it was his job to answer people’s questions, even if they weren’t part of his class. His face had returned to its usual neutrality by the time he opened the door. “Good afternoon, miss… Karina, was it?” he asked the girl outside.  
“Ah, I’m glad to hear you remember me! I, um, well…” she trailed off, blushing slightly. “I-I’ll just say it! I happened to get some tea leaves sent by my parents back home, and I was going around looking for anyone who’d be willing to share it with me.” Even if he hadn’t just experienced this twice, her goal would have been clear.  
“You’d be best searching among your peers. Lorenz, the heir of the Gloucester family, is a tea aficionado, if I recall.” And he had work to do.  
“O-oh.” She seemed a bit shaken by the nobleman’s name. “Uh, well… he doesn’t really like to talk to girls who aren’t important nobles.” That was actually true. She was better at this than the other two. “And I’m only the third daughter of a relatively minor house, and… I don’t even have a Crest, so…” She stared at her feet, but the occasional hopeful glances upwards through her bangs betrayed her true aim.  
“I’m sure Sylvain Gautier would be glad to share tea with you.” A flash of anger overwhelmed her nervousness.  
“Gautier? _That_ worthless skirt-chaser? Do you—” she caught herself, face falling as she returned to her former expression. “Do you really think he’d be interested in somebody like me? There are so many prettier girls around,” she sighed, clearly fishing for a compliment. While she was marginally better at this than the other students who’d attempted to coerce him into having tea with them… he had experience with reading people, and her body language was all wrong. The way she balled her fists seemed more aggressive than nervous, and the slope of her shoulders belied confidence, not self-doubt. Hmph. He blew a bit of air out of his nose at that idea, that his skill at reading his opponents’ body language on the battlefield had all been in the service of letting him see through the intentions of those trying to flirt with him.

“Regardless," he sighed. "I _am_ grading some papers for my class.” He tried to put some emphasis on ‘my class’, since this girl wasn’t one of his students, but the words still came out sounding flat. “So I’ll decline.”  
“Oh. That’s… okay. I guess it was dumb for me to even try.” She turned away slowly, giving him ample opportunity to feel sorry enough for her to change his mind. He didn’t.

He barely got the door shut before another knock came. He would have to find somewhere else to grade, if he wanted to get any work done. Somewhere where students wouldn’t think to bother him, or somewhere they’d be reluctant to visit on their own.

“ _Hello,_ Professor,” Seteth hissed through gritted teeth. “To what do I owe this ‘honor’?” His glare was withering—even after almost four months, he still doubted the archbishop’s decision. Even more so her decision to entrust him with the Sword of the Creator. “Have you perhaps finally realized—”  
“I need to borrow your office.”

The door slammed shut violently, leaving Byleth out in the hall. Well it had been a long shot, anyways. What other options did he have? Hanneman and Maneula were both out. He didn’t want to be poked, prodded, or flirted with. Perhaps he could use the advisory room? Rhea would probably agree to that. But then again, she agreed to most of his requests, no matter how unreasonable. He didn’t want to place a burden on her. So that left…

“Hey, kid. What’s up?” Jeralt glanced up from his own work as he slipped into the captain’s office. “Having trouble?”  
“A bit.” He didn’t feel the need to mention the rumors—surely they would have reached the ears of the man running the security of the monastery. “I need a place where I can get work done.”  
“Hm.” His father scanned him up and down. “That all?” He nodded, a bit confused. “Well, sure. I’m not bothered by it.”  
“Thank you.” He set down his papers and returned to grading.

“You’re really going all out, aren’t you?” He glanced up, having been lost in his task yet again.  
“What do you mean?” He set the quill down carefully, so as to not drip ink on any of the work he’d been looking over.  
“This teacher thing. When you came along with me, I had no idea that Lady Rhea would force you into this. I didn’t think it would end well, either. But…” he sighed, glancing out the window. “The students seem to like you.” Maybe _too_ much. “And from what I’ve heard, you’re not half bad as an instructor, either.”  
“…thank you?” He wasn’t sure how to respond. Jeralt sighed.  
“I just want to say… you’re doing well.” Huh. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “What, surprised? I can be proud of my kid,” the mercenary scoffed. While sober, even. Bold strides.  
“Thanks,” he replied, a bit of warmth leaking through into his tone. Hey, maybe his father could tell that to Leonie, and get her off his back for a bit.  
“Hm. And happy birthday.” Oh. So _that_ was what the speech was about. He suppressed a chuckle, rolling his eyes. Still, it did make him happy to hear.

He worked in silence for an hour or so, casting glances out the window, trying to gauge whether or not those students were still searching for him.  
“You keep looking out there. You waiting on something?” Jeralt asked, shuffling through a knight’s report.  
“Something like that.” He felt his father’s stare grow a bit angry at his response, so he continued. “I’ve been having trouble with the students lately. They’re in a stir trying to ‘obtain’ my crest.” It took a moment until the elder mercenary understood.  
“Oho. So you’re hiding away because of that? Are you embarrassed about being popular?” he chuckled.  
“It gets in the way of my work,” he stated. It was annoying, to say the least.  
“Hm. Well, it should die down in a few days. They’ll rush to the next bit of interesting news as soon as it comes up.” Great. So he had to survive… how many more days of this? He certainly hoped they’d at least let him teach without interrupting him.

By the time the sky had faded into a soft orange, he had judged it safe enough to leave Jeralt’s office. He’d worried about having to sneak a meal out of the dining hall, but he’d managed to remain unaccosted by making sure to eat with the knights—the students seemed to be intimidated by them.  
Still, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could survive this—his nerves were already raw, and it hadn’t been more than a few hours. Perhaps a longer break was in order. A free day was coming up soon, after all. Though he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d _do,_ even if he did obtain license to leave the monastery. Maybe he could do some sightseeing? He still recalled the strange nostalgia of the Red Canyon a few weeks prior—perhaps there were other spots like that that could elucidate some of the questions he and Sothis shared regarding her memories. He considered the question as he returned to his quarters surreptitiously.

“Professor?” He suppressed the urge to scream, turning to face the source of the voice. Actually, he recognized this one.  
“Petra?” But where was she?  
“I am giving greetings.” Softly, the princess fell to the ground in front of him, dropping from… the roof?  
“How did you get up there?” And why?  
“I had been climbing.” She glanced at the crates piled up at the edge of the dormitory. He followed her gaze. He could imagine it; after all, he'd heard tales from Linhardt that she occasionally took naps in trees, of all places—the boy seemed to make a habit of interviewing his classmates on the best place to sleep—so she’d have to be skilled at climbing. “It was giving me a better position to be watching for your approach.”  
“Were you waiting long? If so, I apologize.” He hadn’t really considered that he might’ve been leaving his actual students in the lurch by hiding. She shook her head.  
“It is not being a problem. I was searching, but I was not able to be finding you, so I was waiting here.” She spoke casually, the same tone a hunter would use when speaking of the haul from the traps they’d set. Still, he felt a small bit of pride that he’d been able to evade the skilled huntress for so long.  
“Did you have a question on the other day’s lesson?” All they’d done today were combat exercises, so it couldn’t really be that. “Or is this about something else?” He sincerely hoped none of his students would be approaching him as the others had, but he couldn’t rule out the possibility.  
“Yes. About the other things, I am meaning.” _Wonderful._ “I am wondering if you have yet found something I may be doing for you.” Oh, that. He had honestly forgotten. Hm.

Now that he thought about it, perhaps this was an opportunity he could use. He needed to get out of the monastery for a while, and he’d always wondered how Petra was able to sneak up on him with such regularity. A hunting expedition, perhaps? Or some kind of special training? Or perhaps…

“I have, yes,” he nodded. As long as she agreed to it, of course. And he’d probably have to pull some strings with the church.  
“Oh? Please be telling me.”  
“How would you feel about a hunting trip?”


	5. Chapter 5

“You… are wanting me to ‘hunt you’?” Did he not mean that he wanted her to him with him? “I do not have understanding. Is this another ‘metaphor’ of Fódlan?” Petra wasn’t sure she’d ever understand those.  
“I may have phrased it poorly. Consider it a training exercise,” her teacher clarified. “More of a training exercise for me than for you, in truth.” She still didn’t understand.  
“So, then, are you wanting me to be showing you how to hunt?”  
“No. I…” The professor seemed a bit frustrated by the misunderstanding. “Let me try to make myself clear. I’m impressed by your stealth—no one else here is able to sneak up on me with such regularity, even Shamir.” That was probably the most words she’d ever heard him speak at once before. At least, outside of class.  
“I am having tha—er, being thankful?” That didn’t sound quite right either. “I have much experience with making my presence unknown.”  
“Right. And I’d like to see if I can learn to detect your presence. Thus, this training session. Or hunting trip.”  
“I… think I am having understanding. But how are you planning on finding me?” The corner of the professor’s mouth quirked upwards.  
“That’s the important part. It’s not meant to be hide-and-seek. I want you to come at me instead. So that I get the most practice possible in detecting your approach.”  
“You are wanting me to attack you?” Even for how eccentric Byleth was known to be sometimes, this was something new.  
“Basically, yes.” He must have read worry in her expression, because he continued. “Don’t worry. I can take whatever you can dish out.” The self-assuredness in his tone made her competitive spirit flare up.  
“You are saying that now. Perhaps then you will be saying something different,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes.  
“Does that mean you accept?” She hadn’t actually had any intention to refuse, even if the idea was a bit strange.  
“Yes. I am thinking you will have to be spending some time organizing this?” The professor let out a soft sigh.  
“Yes. It might take me a couple days. I’ll notify you when I’ve gotten approval.”  
“I will be waiting.” She spared a glance at the sky. The last rays of sunlight were fading, allowing the stars to shine through. “I must be going, though. I am having much more training to do before I am sleeping tonight.”  
“Don’t overwork yourself.” People always told her that. She supposed it was meant to be an expression of worry, but she knew her limits. 

“So, then. How do you plan to pull this off, exactly?” The tiny spirit laid flat in the air, holding her chin in her hands as her feet kicked lazily. It was a strange quirk—she rarely seemed visible except for when his were the only eyes on her, normally in his room. To be honest, he still wasn’t sure whether he was hallucinating the girl or not.  
“How rude! You should be grateful to have the opportunity to gaze upon me!” Oh, right. Sothis could read his thoughts.  
“Regardless. Why are you taking an interest in this?” The other occupant of his head sighed, adjusting one of her braids.  
“It’s the most entertaining thing that’s happened in weeks. I am beginning to grow tired of gazing at the walls of this monastery.” She stifled a yawn, though he wasn’t sure whether the irony was intentional. “And…” she gazed at him, eyes sparkling. “Hm. It seems you do not realize yet. Well then, I will not be the one to spoil it.” He didn’t quite understand, but it probably wasn’t important.  
“If you say so,” he shrugged. “But in regards to my ‘plan’, it isn’t too complex. I just need to get permission to visit one of the secluded sections of the forest.”  
“Permission from _whom_ , exactly?” came the reply, the spirit wearing a mirthful grin.  
“Well, the person in charge of that would be…” Oh. He wasn’t sure he had any strings to pull on Seteth. But… perhaps there was a way, after all. It would take some doing, but…

“Remember that I’ll be supervising the certification exams on Friday, for those of you that feel you’re ready for a more advanced lesson plan,” he directed, glancing over the class. A few eyes met his—it was a sudden shift in the schedule, but he thought the students would be able to handle it. “See me if you have any questions, regarding the exams or the assignments I’ve given. If not, then you’re dismissed.”  
As the class filtered out of the classroom—all except Linhardt, who was still peacefully snoozing away. Was he using one of Hanneman’s tomes as a pillow?—he packed up his supplies. It was just about time to hand over the goods. He’d spent all morning trying to gather what he needed to hand off, so it had better suffice.

He dipped into the shaded alley, holding the bag tightly. He’d had a couple of encounters with overenthusiastic students, which was a delay he couldn’t handle. He didn’t want his goods to spoil, after all.  
“Professor. You’re late.” By two minutes and thirteen seconds, to be precise. Which normally wouldn’t be an issue, but he had to handle this carefully.  
“I apologize for the delay.” He pulled the paper-wrapped bundles from his bag. “But I’ve brought the goods.”  
“Is that so? Let me have a look.” He passed one to her, letting Flayn unwrap the bundled fish. “Hmm. This is an acceptable quality. And the others?”  
“Three bullheads, two Albinean herring, and…” His rarest treasure. It hurt to give it up, but to be honest, it would probably spoil soon anyways. “One goddess messenger filet.”  
“Oh! As beautiful as I’ve heard,” the girl muttered, wiping away a bit of saliva as she returned the filet to the bag. “Very well then. Consider our transaction complete.”  
“You’ll convince Seteth for me?” His weakness for his little sister was well-known. And, to be honest, it was the only one he’d been able to find—the man was like a steel trap when it came to any information about himself, but in regards to Flayn, he gushed without end.  
“Of course.” She closed the bag wistfully, hefting it onto her shoulder. “I’ll be certain he is… made amenable to your request, Professor.” The look in her eyes was dangerous, a far cry from the innocent smile she normally sported. He took a half step back without entirely meaning to. Not that he was frightened, of course. It was just… unexpected. “Fare well, Professor!”  
“You too. Be careful,” he nodded. Flayn’s head bobbed as well as she passed him, heading around the corner. Now, while Flayn was working her magic on Seteth, what else did he need to do?

“Is that all? If you’re going on a hunting trip, shouldn’t you—”  
“This is all I need,” he asserted, cutting off the redheaded merchant. Two bedrolls, in case the trip went long, and some dried meat and trail mix to serve as a meal until they tracked some game.  
“Are you sure? You could use some protection from the elements if you’re gonna be out there long, right? It’s almost the Horsebow Moon—we're starting to get some serious storms! And I just so happen to have a few wonderfully portable tents in stock!” Ugh. This is why he had never liked handling the shopping.  
“Stop trying to upsell me, please. Just give me the price for what I have here.” She seemed a mite offended at that, but the smooth smile soon slid back onto her face.  
“Of course! It’ll be about—”  
“Professor!” Goddess, what was it this time? He turned to face the newcomer. Oh, the gatekeeper. Was there finally something to report? “I’ve been looking all over for you! The archbishop has requested your presence!” Well, that was unusual. He hadn’t expected that his request would rise to Rhea’s attention.  
“I’ll be there in a moment. Thank you for telling me.” At least he could use that to convince the merchant to hurry up.

He stepped into the advisory room carefully; as soon as he did, he felt Rhea turn to face him, smiling peacefully.  
“Professor. How _wonderful_ to see you today.” He was almost blown away by the warm, comforting aura surrounding her.  
“It’s nice to see you as well, archbishop. Though I assume this isn’t for one of our typical tea times.” His words faltered a bit, not certain how to respond.  
“I’ve heard you planned on taking on some of the hunting duties. While my heart is gladdened by your assistance… I must express my worry over certain rumors I have heard.” Ah. Of course.  
“I wasn’t aware that such things reached even your ears, Lady Rhea.”  
“Normally, they do not. But when they concern the wielder of the Sword of the Creator, even I must be attentive.” He found it almost comical to imagine the dignified archbishop mixing with the common folk at the nearest tavern to hear the latest rumors.  
“I don’t want to cause you undue worry, archbishop. Can I help with your concerns?” He still remembered his father’s warning—never let his guard down at the monastery. Especially around the archbishop. So he was certain to always be careful with his words and actions around Rhea. Even during the discussions they regularly held over tea.  
“Perhaps. I have heard that you intend to take a student with you on your hunting expedition.” So _that’s_ what this was about.  
“Yes.” He wasn’t sure how to explain his actual intentions with the expedition. “The student in question—miss Macneary—is a skilled hunter. I have hunted before, but there are still far too many points in which I am lacking.”  
“Ah. Is _that_ the reason?” A shiver ran down his spine as her eyes fell upon him. It was almost the same look she’d given to the Western Church officials who’d organized the plot to rob the Holy Mausoleum. If his heart had a beat, it might’ve skipped a bit. But he still responded in his usual monotone.  
“It is. Though, I suppose those rumors _would_ make you wary of me taking a student along.” He thought he caught a flash of frustration, gone as quickly as it appeared. Had she been attempting to intimidate him? “Please, be assured that I have no intention of engaging in any inappropriate behavior.”  
“And I suspect you would then say that the reason you scheduled this trip was to get away from the crowd of nobles seeking your hand?” Ah. He understood a bit better why Jeralt had told him not to let his guard down around her, now. She was sharp. Were it not for her position, he could almost see her as a competent leader of a mercenary band, or even an army—she certainly had the charisma for it. Though… maybe she already was.  
“Yes. Part of why I chose miss Macneary. She’s not a noble. Or, at least, not one of Fódlan.” And if she asked why he wouldn’t take a knight, well, weren’t most of them still occupied? Either cleaning up the remains of the Western Church, or tracking down that thief, Miklan.  
“I see.” She paused, and an uncomfortable silence rose in the air as she thought. “Very well. If your heart is set on this path, then I will not object.” She seemed to have realized this wasn’t as big of an issue as rumors may have made it seem, thankfully. “I hope that you will return safely.”  
“Thank you, archbishop.” He bowed slightly. “May I take my leave? I have lessons to prepare for.”  
“Of course. May the goddess be with you, professor.” The frightening aura she had shown previously was gone even from memory now, as her warm smile returned. “Thank you for your time. I hope I can still expect you for our teatime on Sunday?”  
“I wouldn’t dare miss it, Lady Rhea,” he replied as he stood, almost without thinking.  
“Wonderful.” Her last word hung in the air as he made his exit.

Petra found herself feeling a bit excited as the end of the week approached—strangely, the upcoming excursion with the professor had become something she was looking forward to. Perhaps because it was a rare chance to apply her hunting expertise—perhaps she was simply still feeling competitive, and wanted to prove that there was something, at least, where she could beat her professor—the man had always seemed so untouchable in their training and combat exercises.  
Regardless of how she felt, the day was upon her almost as soon as she could blink.

The trek out of the monastery was mostly uneventful—the biggest issue they ran into was the guard not recognizing the professor. Apparently the night guards didn’t change out until after the sun had fully crested the horizon.

“Are you having certainty that using the northern parts of the forest is allowed?” she asked as they walked—she had heard that this place was off limits.  
“No,” the professor replied bluntly. “But we’re doing it anyways.”  
“I… see.” She really didn’t understand his reasoning, but one thing she’d learned is that the professor generally wasn’t very forthcoming outside of class. “Why are we doing this, then?” You had to prompt him at times, like keeping a stubborn old horse moving.  
“Because I feel frustrated at my lack of ability to find privacy lately, so I’m lashing out in an irrational way like this. Making sure I'm in a place where no one else will be, even if it's a place no one _should_ be.” The admission made her laugh a bit. The professor was also very frank about his motivations, which she found refreshing. Many of the nobles of Fódlan would say one thing, but mean another, and it confused her. Not that she thought they were liars; most of her classmates were good friends. But it was still nice to talk to someone who seemed to be unable to consider not speaking their mind.

“Stream here.” His words pulled her from her reflection. “Watch your step.” The professor marched into the water, seemingly uncaring about the flowing water sinking into his boots.  
“I will not be slipping,” she assured him. She resisted a desire to remove her shoes and feel the cool water wash over her feet. A slight distance away, the brook bubbled over worn-down stone, smoothed by the stream’s passage. She quickened her pace slightly, hopping dexterously onto the wet rocks.  
Her professor’s eyes widened as she stepped across the stones, not noticing he was still standing in the water.  
“You see?” she smiled, landing adroitly on the other end, completely dry.  
“I do, he nodded. "Impressive.” For some reason, his commendation made her smile just a bit wider.  
“There is much terrain of treachery in Brigid. Agility is being a requirement if you are wanting to be a hunter,” she explained, if only to fill the air as they continued.  
“Hm. Is everyone there as skilled as you?”  
“You must be, to survive. If you cannot hunt, you cannot be eating.” The professor’s eyebrows rose slightly, the most emotion he’d shown today.  
“Brigid sounds like a tough place to live.” She shook her head slightly. It appeared like he was getting the wrong idea.  
“Perhaps to the people of Fódlan, it is being difficult. But _I_ am thinking that it is not as hard as… not as hard as _they_ are thinking.” She stopped for a moment, to focus on trying to get the words correct. “Are you understanding?”  
“I think. You mean that people looking in on your life from the outside find it shocking or strange, when you don’t.” His words sounded as if he had experience with the subject.  
“In Brigid, you must be able to hunt to be living. In Fódlan, many people are growing food. This is not so in Brigid.”  
“Ah. Not a good… climate? For farming?” His tone made it clear he was offering conjecture. She shrugged, not very sure about it herself.  
“We are not growing many of the plants that are being common in Fódlan. That I know. But there are many trees that give fruit. Their spirits are generous.” He nodded at that, but she got the impression that it was only out of courtesy. “We are also fishing often.” She didn’t want to give the impression that hunting was the only thing they did.  
“I’ve heard the food of Brigid is very spicy, compared to the fare of Fódlan. How do you—” he remarked. “Oh, careful. Loose leaves here.”  
“You are thinking I need to be warned of that?” she asked, a bit offended.  
“You should always be aware of your footing. But…” the professor cast his eyes downwards, kicking a small pile of fallen leaves. “To be honest, it’s a habit. In a battle, some time ago, I lost my footing on fallen leaves and twisted my ankle in a rabbit burrow.”  
“Truly?” She suppressed a laugh at the mental image. “I was not aware you were making any mistakes like that.” He had always seemed… untouchable in battle. Even during sparring sessions, he had yet to take more than a glancing blow.  
“I was less experienced then. It doesn’t happen now,” he assured her, his eyes serious. “My father is the one who kept reminding me, and eventually he got me saying it as well.” Still… was that not the first time she’d heard the professor speak about his past?

The sun had climbed up to nearly the peaks of the trees when Byleth decided to stop. Or… begin? Whatever.  
“This is a decent place,” he stated, looking around at the small clearing. “We’ll make this our ‘starting line’.” He pulled his pack from his shoulders, sliding the loops onto a tree branch about the height of his head. It should keep the food out of the reach of most of the forest residents, though if bears wandered through… well, he doubted there’d be any this close to the monastery.  
“Hm. I am still lacking in details for what we are doing.” He turned to explain, only to find Petra climbing a tree, placing her own supplies a bit higher. He gave her a moment to show off, catching a small smirk as she dropped down.  
“Simple. I’m going to go out into the woods, and a few minutes later, you’ll come after me. Hopefully, it’ll help me learn how to detect your presence, and also teach me a bit about hunting techniques and stealth.”  
“I am… wondering why you are wanting this,” she replied, eyes narrowed at him. He took a deep breath. This would be a lot of speaking.  
“I find it embarrassing that despite being skilled on the battlefield, I’m so easily fooled by you even when you’re not actively trying to hide. I’m hoping to correct that hole in my training through this exercise.” He caught her raised finger, and continued before she could raise another question. “We’re doing it like this because I learn best through physical practice. And I want to be as close to real battle conditions as possible. After all, if you can hide from me so easily, who’s to say our enemies can’t?” Her head tilted quizzically, considering his words.

“I… am getting some understanding. So how will I be ‘coming after’ you?” she asked, glancing at the trees. Was she already preparing a plan of attack? Good.  
“However you’d like. It’s pointless if I try to restrict you. Though I’d prefer if you didn’t use deadly weapons.” His knowledge of healing magic only went so far. “And…” he reached for his blade, unclipping the Sword of the Creator from where it hung on his belt. “To make it fair, I won’t be using this.” A small red spark ran along the inside of one of the blade’s many cracks, as if it was protesting him leaving it behind. He slung it up beside his bag, though… strangely, he could still feel the blade’s presence, a dull echo in his mind. He wondered if that was normal for those who bonded with a Hero’s Relic. He’d have to try asking Sothis once she woke up. He took a replacement blade, a spare iron sword, from his bag. It felt a bit awkward on his hip—he’d grown used to the relic’s weight, even while training with other weapons.

“You are very confident, thinking you need to cap your hands,” Petra remarked, drawing a hunting dagger from her belt. “Very well. To be keeping things fair, I will only be using this.” She held the blade between two fingers, wagging the hilt at him teasingly.  
“I wasn’t trying to—forget it. Fine. Are you ready to begin?”  
“Allow me to do some stretching first.” He shrugged, going over his plan in his head. It would be foolhardy to run around like a frightened rabbit. Perhaps some sort of— Petra caught his attention, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You should be stretching also. I would not want you to be hurting yourself.” _Very_ funny.  
“If you say so.” He doubted stretching was the missing piece of the puzzle; you rarely had time to go through a full stretching session before heading into battle.

“Professor,” she sighed as he stretched. “I did not think you were being so inflexible.”  
“On the contrary,” he huffed. “You’re just… insanely flexible.” He could touch his toes. With enough effort, at least. Meanwhile, Petra stood on one leg, the other pointing almost straight into the air. Almost like a dancer he’d seen one time—one of the stranger contracts his father’s mercenary company had received, guarding a performance by a ballet troupe. At least the ones who had been stationed inside had enjoyed the show—he’d been stuck guarding the alley. His student let out a small laugh, returning to her neutral position.  
“You are thinking that because you are not stretching often enough. Let me show you how it is done. First, you should be removing your armor.”  
“Why should I?” He felt naked without it. Petra looked at him like he was a child, shocked by the question.  
“Because it will be harder to move with it than without it. Learning to move with it is good as well, but you must learn the basics first. Is that not how you were telling us, when we were practicing with weapons?” 

“To throw your own words back in your face like that. What a _remarkable_ child. I think I like this one.” He suppressed a jump at Sothis’s sudden voice. She’d known the students for as long as he had—did it take her this long to make a judgement on whether or not she liked them? A stab of annoyance came from inside his own mind at that, which was a strange sensation. He realized Petra was still waiting for his response as Sothis’s ghostly form floated over her.  
“I did. Fine, we’ll do things your way,” he nodded, unhooking his breastplate.  
“Good. I suppose I will be the teacher, for now.” Mirth was clear in her tone as she spoke. “We will be starting with the legs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're finally getting to the actual namesake of the story, though I wanted to throw some more character building moments in here between our two leads. Just conversations that hopefully make the story feel more grounded. We also have Byleth's 'shell' starting to crack a bit ahead of schedule, though he still isn't showing too much emotion openly.  
> We also have some slight headcanon from me regarding how missions work: I think most of the mission sitting for a month at a time is a gameplay conceit, and we'll be seeing more of that moving forward.  
> Next time, we'll be getting into the main event of the hunting trip, and the fallout from that.


	6. Chapter 6

Fourteen minutes and seventeen seconds. At least, if you discounted the ten minute head start he had been given. That was how long it took for the hunter to find him and but a knife at his throat.  
“You are dead,” she whispered seriously, tapping the hilt against an artery. It was the same phrase he normally used after defeating one of the students in a sparring session. It felt… embarrassing to have it turned on him, like his credibility as a teacher had been lost.  
“I am,” he agreed with a sigh. “Can you move?” Her knee was digging into his back, and her weight pressing down on him was beginning to grow uncomfortable.  
“You are not very good at staying silent, Professor,” Petra observed, standing up, allowing him to do the same.  
“It’s never been a problem before.” He rubbed a sore spot on his side, from when she had tackled him. “Mercenaries aren’t usually expected to be quiet.”  
“Is that so? I thought you were often performing the ambush on your targets.” She brushed a leaf off of his shoulder, fallen from the tree she had leapt down from.  
“The Blade Breaker doesn’t do ambushes,” he echoed, adjusting his sword belt. “That’s what my father always said. Probably because he’s so strong—we never needed the advantage of surprise to win.”  
“Perhaps you should not be trying so hard to be hiding from me, then.” He could agree on that, at least. Trying to hide himself in that bush had ended ridiculously poorly. “If you are wanting to not lose so badly, you should be playing to your strengths, yes?” Fortunately, Sothis’s mocking laughter was contained to the inside of his head.  
“I can see that.” He sighed, brushing the… brush out of his hair. He had told her the other day that this trip wasn’t a game of hide and seek, but in his mind, he’d been treating it like one. Or a game of ‘tag’, perhaps. Ridiculous, in hindsight. “Come on. We’ll return to the start and try it again. I’m not giving up until I’ve at least eked out a draw.”  
“We will be here for longer than expected, if that is the case.” One win, and it went straight to her head, huh? If she was _that_ tough, he’d be sure to work her harder in their sparring sessions next week.  
“The next one won’t go anything like this,” he assured her. Though by the look on her face, he wasn’t sure she believed him.

The professor was true to his words, it seemed. The next few attempts went better for him, in that he was actually able to put up a fight. It was enlightening for Petra, in that it showed her that none of her class had ever actually fought their teacher before. In sparring matches, he had always maintained a strange distance—his swordplay had felt reserved; keeping the students at bay, never truly taking the offensive. In this, however, he was clearly not holding back. It was surprising how quickly he could move and predict his opponent—at times, it felt like he knew her next move before she did. And he never once surrendered until she had him pinned, fighting with all the ferocity of a cornered animal.  
Still, she was able to keep away from lengthy engagements, focusing on the aspect of surprise, and managed to win almost every ‘round’. Though the professor had discounted the one attempt he had achieved victory in, labelling it as ‘cheating’, though she had no idea how. When they began again, she noted him looking as if he’d been chastised, however.

She watched him from amidst the branches of one of the taller trees, careful to stay downwind of her prey. Not that she thought that the professor’s nose was as sensitive as most of her prey; she simply made sure to take every precaution. She was determined to bring everything she had against her professor. He was doing the same, after all. Though, gazing down at him like this made her think of the other day—and then the branch cracked slightly, forcing her to abandon those thoughts.  
She steadied herself on the branch, distributing her weight to keep it from creaking. The professor’s blade made a rough circle in the underbrush as its point scraped the grass, marking out his reach within a single step. It seemed he hadn’t noticed her slip, eyes still scanning the trees. Carefully, she drew her dagger from its sheath, preparing to attack. He wouldn’t get the chance to respond.

Byleth went down in a tangle of limbs, his sword knocked from his grasp by a well-aimed kick to his wrist. Cursing, he pulled a handful of dead leaves from the ground, throwing them in her face as he struggled on the ground. Fortunately, he was much better trained in close-range brawling, than she, and knew how to place his blows to keep her on the defense, sending her dagger into the brush as well as an elbow drove into her ribs—he couldn’t afford to be treating his opponent lightly at this point.

After a prolonged brawl, rolling over each other in a struggle for dominance, he found himself on his back again, with a knife to his throat. Again. He hadn’t been able to keep her from reaching for her second dagger after she’d managed to get atop him again. He jerked his chin upwards, away from the shining point of the hunting dagger as she straddled him.

“You are, ha, fighting dirtily, professor,” she panted. “But you are… you are dead.” The intensity in her eyes was a bit different than in normal sparring sessions—he was glad she was so determined.  
“I have to go all out, if I want to stand a chance,” he breathed. “You can’t expect me to just… give in.” There was something peculiar in her gaze as she looked down at him, though he couldn’t tell quite what. “You’re strong enough that I can’t get by with half-measures.” He made to sit up, but she was still pinning him down. “Should we—ah.” He blinked, surprised at the drop of water striking him directly in the eye.  
“Ah. I had thought I was smelling rain.” Damn. Maybe he should’ve listened to that merchant after all.  
“We should find shelter." He tried to sit again. "If you’d move.”  
“Oh! I am having apologies. I—you are right,” she nodded, a slight flush on her cheeks. “I was seeing some old ruins in the forest. Perhaps we can be going there?”  
“The supplies first,” he muttered, wiping water from his eyes as the patter of rain on the leaves above grew more intense. “We’ll have to run, or they’ll be ruined.” He couldn’t afford to leave his blade sitting around without him for too long.

The rain was pouring by the time they reached where they’d stashed their supplies—they were likely soaked by now, but there was nothing to be done about it, other than have Petra direct him to the alcove she’d spotted and hope that they could be salvaged.

The ruined roof held up surprisingly well as they took shelter under it, thunder growling as the storm pounded at the earth.  
“That one certainly came on quick.” Byleth set his pack down, taking a moment to relax, though it was difficult in his soaked clothes.  
“The storms of Fódlan are not having much speed? In Brigid, the weather is changing very often in this season.” He glanced over at Petra—and quickly averted his gaze. The white of the monastery uniform didn’t lend well to being soaked.  
“Maybe we just weren’t paying enough attention,” he shrugged. They had certainly been distracted enough. A bit of wind blew in from the crumbling doorway, making him shiver. His own clothing was soaked as well, unfortunately.  
“You are feeling cold?” she asked, shifting on the old stones behind him, while he pointedly did not look in her direction. “Perhaps we should be shedding wet clothes. To avoid becoming sickened.” Oh. He had forgotten that he’d stored a change of clothes—two, actually. Always have a backup plan, even for your backup plan—in his bag. 

“You’re right,” he nodded. And Petra had hopefully done the same. That might quell the awkwardness somewhat, as long as they weren't drenched as well. Pulling open the pack, he was relieved to see that the clothes were damp, at best. He risked a glance in her direction, and thankfully she wasn’t too exposed as she rummaged in her bag. Her frown seemed to betray that her own supplies had been less lucky.  
“If only we were having a fire,” she muttered, water still dripping from her braid. He _had_ considered attempting a magical fire, but dismissed it as far too risky.  
“If you need something drier, you can borrow mine.” He offered the bag, having already retrieved a dry shirt and pants. Though he did keep his eyes on the ground. “Might be a bit too big, but it’ll keep you from shivering.”  
“Ah! I am having thanks.” She took the bag. “Oh. Can you… be turning away for a moment?”  
“Of course.” The silence was… awkward, to say the least, as the two changed.

The professor’s clothes were indeed overly large on her—she recalled once, as a child, when she had tried on her father’s garments. Obviously, the difference in size was not as evident as back then, but she still would have to roll up the sleeves and legs of the pants. In the corner of her eye, she caught the professor stripping off his wet shirt, his back still to her. Her eyes traced over the scars there, each one proof of a fight won or a hard-learned lesson. It was a reminder of the discussion she’d had with Dorothea, a couple days prior…

She had been having lunch at the time, when Dorothea seated herself across from her. Petra glanced up—while eating together with her classmates wasn’t uncommon, recently Dorothea had been taking her lunch with a series of knights.

“Good afternoon,” she nodded, setting down her meat skewer.  
“Is it?” her friend asked, taking a delicate bite. “Sorry if I’m a bit down. I just…” she trailed off with a sigh. “Bit of a bad breakup.” She knew the meaning of that phrase—after a rather embarrassing incident where she’d dragged Sylvain to the infirmary, thinking he’d broken a bone.  
“Oh.” She still didn’t know what to say in these situations, however. “If you are not minding, I am wanting to ask a question.”  
“I don’t.”  
“You are…” she fumbled for the words to say this politely. “You are having many relationships.”  
“I don’t know if I’d call a series of first dates relationships, but sure. Go on.”  
“You were saying that you were romantic. I was having thought that that meant you were waiting for a love that was like in the books of Fódlan.”  
“Ah.” She smiled, but there was sadness in it. “Yeah, I did say that. But you have to understand, love at first sight like that…” She waved dismissively. “It’s just stories. When it comes to love, you have to go looking for it, you know.” She didn't, actually.  
“How are you looking for it?” she asked between bites. It didn’t seem like her friend was having too much luck finding it, after all.  
“A lot of trial and error, it seems,” Dorothea sighed. “In all seriousness, it’s about following your heart. If you’re interested in somebody, make a move. Try it out, and see how it feels. If you’re good together… who knows where it'll go from there? You have be confident with these things.”  
“Hm. Thank you for teaching me,” she nodded. She could see what she meant, at least in theory.  
“No problem, dear. Though… I answered your question, so now you have to answer mine. Only fair, right?”  
“I will do my best.” 

“Good.” She leaned forward, a twinkle in her eye. “I heard that you and the professor are planning a little ‘getaway’.” Her tone was teasing, but her mannerisms made it clear her curiosity was real. “What’s that all about?”  
“It is only a hunting trip. I do not know what you are finding so much intrigue in.”  
“Oh, come on, darling. Please tell me that you understand that a gentleman doesn’t typically ask a lady to accompany him to a secluded space with no one else around unless he has…” she trailed off, the corners of her lips curling into a grin. “Well, unless he has certain _intentions._ ”  
“Intentions? I—”  
“Unless he wishes to court her,” her dining partner quickly clarified with a sigh.  
“Court me? You… cannot be thinking there is any possibility of that.” She knew that they’d just discussed this kind of thing, but there was no possibility that the professor had intentions like that. In fact, from what she’d heard, the professor was actively trying to avoid people seeking his hand—so why would he invite her out if that was his intention?  
“I wouldn’t discount it,” the singer shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to see, but our professor is a man too, after all.” Well, of course he was. But what did that have to do with it? “Probably because he doesn’t show much emotion. But don’t doubt for a second that there’s a wolf hiding underneath that stoic exterior, lying in wait for an opportunity to ravage pretty girls like you and me.”  
“You are… teasing me again.”  
“Yeah. But, Petra.” Her expression became serious, setting her tableware down. “Whether you see it or not, men have those kinds of desires, even men like our teacher.”  
“I am aware of that!” she huffed. “I am no child!”  
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Dorothea bowed her head in apology, though she had to reach up to keep her hat from falling. “Look. I don’t want to create a rift between you, but that’s something you need to be aware of, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”  
“I am capable of defending myself,” she stated, eyes narrowed at the other woman.  
“Not…” she sighed, her expression softening. “Not physically. I meant, you know, emotionally. After all that 'follow your heart' talk, it might sound hypocritical, but… be careful, okay?” Dorothea asked, laying her hand on top of Petra’s.  
“I… will take your words to heart,” she nodded solemnly. “But my food is beginning to grow cold.”

So here she sat, uncomfortably aware of the professor’s presence as he wrung out his clothes onto the ancient cobbles. Had Dorothea had the truth of it? Had he actually invited her here for romantic purposes? She didn’t have much experience with this kind of thing—well, of course she’d had childhood crushes. But never before had she truly considered the idea of falling in love. Especially not with the professor. Though… now that her perspective had changed, watching him, she could see how people would approach him in that way. He was certainly not unattractive physically. He was strong, and intelligent as well—at least when it came to tactics. In knowledge of the world, he was perhaps even worse than her—and he had great skill in battle. She could certainly see how he would make a good partner. Would his single-minded devotion apply to his romantic endeavors as well, she wondered? It was amusing to imagine.

“Holding up alright?” She jumped at his voice, a blush rising to her face, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been.  
“Yes. I am well enough. Though perhaps if you had a belt…” She was a bit frightened to move, in case her borrowed garments fell off. She raised one of the overlong sleeves to demonstrate, her hand almost entirely lost inside it.  
“Of course. Let me check the bag.” As he turned, she couldn’t help but remember the glimpses of his torso she’d seen moments prior. Another reminder that the professor was a man, which brought heat to her chest. Did he see her as a woman? Did she even want him to? It was… confusing, to say the least.  
“Here.” He offered her a loop of leather. Better than nothing, she supposed.  
“Thank you.” When his fingers brushed hers, it felt different than usual, though it was probably because she was so hyper-aware of his presence. It still brought a slight flush to her face, which was thankfully difficult to see in the low light. The professor nodded, seating himself near the entrance of the alcove.

Some time passed like that, the two of them listening to the rain as it beat down on the rock above. It faded over time, the growls of thunder and flashes of lightning slowly abating. By the time the calls of birds returned outside, sunlight piercing through the clouds once more, the professor had fallen asleep, leaned against the wall of the ruin. She rose, stepping lightly over to him.  
It was… strange to see such a serene expression on his face. He looked relaxed in a way she’d never seen before—while it was similar to his normal stoicism, the lack of his intense, almost unflinching gaze softened his face significantly. She could almost imagine him smiling, even. 

“Professor.” She put a hand on his shoulder, intending to awaken him, but his eyes snapped open before she could. His hand was immediately on his blade, and she flinched back without even realizing it.  
His eyes scanned the room, as if some monster was lurking in the shadows.  
“I dozed off.” His tone was a mix of confusion and disappointment. “I’m sorry. Storm’s over. Do you want to continue?” He rose a bit unsteadily—probably something to do with his poor sleeping posture. “No, better not to. We should head back, in case it’s only a temporary break.”  
“Right.” It made sense, but… but what?  
It seemed that the same part of her that had given rise to her blushes and inappropriate thoughts was protesting this a bit. If they went back, she thought, then she would have time and space to get rid of those feelings, and bring things back to normal. And that would be for the best, right?  
Though… she did wonder what could be. Certainly, if it came to it, her grandfather would not object to her partnership with the professor—it was clear to anyone with eyes that he would go far in the church, even if he left his teaching position. And though the people of Brigid did not worship the goddess of Fódlan, had he not asked her to find a partner who would tie their land closer to this place? Surely, the church was the pillar that held up Fódlan’s three great regions.  
And she _did_ like the professor. He was admirable in many ways, and she’d seen firsthand how skilled he was—and continued to see him demonstrate that skill on their monthly missions. Perhaps, as Dorothea had advised her, it was worth a try.

“Professor?”  
“Hm?” He glanced back as he shouldered his pack.  
“Since we are discontinuing our exercise, I have been thinking. As I was getting the victory in all of our engagements, would you not be saying I am deserving of a small prize?” He seemed a bit confused at that, but nodded.  
“You… can keep the clothes if you want,” the teacher shrugged.  
“I was considering something else.” An eyebrow raised. “Stand still. And shut your eyes.”  
“…very well.” He was a bit too tall for this. She stepped closer, grabbing his collar and yanking his face down, her lips meeting his. It lasted half a breath, perhaps more, before the professor’s eyes jerked open in surprise and he pushed her away. “What—” He stepped back, evaluating her as if she had been suddenly turned into a dangerous beast.  
“Hm. I think that was good,” she nodded to herself. Yes, she had liked the way that had felt, the flutter it had set in her chest, still yet to subside. The kiss, not the being shoved away. That part she would rather do without.  
“You can’t just—I mean, you shouldn’t—” She had never seen the professor stammer like that before. It was a bit amusing, catching him off guard like that.  
“Now we can be returning." She patted him on the shoulder lightly, before turning and heading into the forest. She had no idea how much longer he remained motionless—he didn’t follow her—she would have known, given how loud he tended to be.

He stared up at the ceiling, laid out on his bed. Night had fallen by now, and he was still puzzled as to what exactly had happened. Well… he understood what had happened. He could still feel the softness of her lips on his—the sensation stubbornly refused to fade from his mind. What he was confused about was the _why_ of it.  
Byleth had never considered romance before. Even with the crowd of students who had been seeking an engagement with him lately, he had always thought of it as… a thing other people did. When you hired the Ashen Demon, you weren't looking for someone with _feelings_. Even in his mercenary days; several of his comrades had confessed to families waiting back home—husbands, wives, sons, daughters. Though he supposed he could understand the biological aspect. People needed to have children, or there wouldn’t be any left, with the way they kept deciding to kill each other.  
But he didn’t think that pragmatism had much of an effect on such things as love and affection. The same comrades had kept dear to their hearts the letters—or in rare cases, portraits—of their loved ones, something else he’d never understood. What was the point of it all?  
“Sothis,” he whispered, sound barely passing from his lips—he could just think at her, but he disliked doing that. It made him feel a bit pretentious.  
“Hmm?” The spirit manifested on a dresser, blinking sleep from her eyes. “What is it this time?” She didn’t have many memories, but the accounts he’d heard suggested that ‘true love’ was unforgettable.  
“…don't ask stupid questions.” A flash of annoyance passed through his mind, though accompanying it was the briefest flash of melancholy, like a lightning bolt across his thoughts. He’d have to find a better source of advice, apparently. That thought earned him a glare from her fading form. 

“Father?” Jeralt glanced up from his work, the candle on his desk almost burnt out. He had wondered whether he’d even be here or not—he was often away on sudden missions or other things that required his attention.  
“Hey, kid.” He set the quill down, pushing his chair back slightly to face him. “It’s late.”  
“Yes. But I had a question.”  
“Okay. Shoot.” The way he rubbed at his eyes implied he didn’t have the energy for a long explanation.  
“Did you love Mother?” Though, he seemed shocked awake by that. Byleth had never asked about his mother—all that he knew was that he had one once, and didn’t anymore—and Jeralt had never discussed it with him.  
“I…” he let out a deep sigh. “Where is this coming from?”  
“It’s… complicated.” He didn’t really know how to explain it. “I just… want to know what it’s like. Caring for someone in that way.”  
“Your mother… I guess I never told you about her, huh?” he trailed off, adjusting a strap on his gauntlet. Yes. I loved your mother. More than anything in the world.” His lips quirked into a smile, but it was a sad one.  
“Why?” Again, his father seemed shocked.  
“Heh.” The smile returned to his face. “It always impresses me how good you are at asking weird questions. I loved her because of… well, ‘cause of a lot of things. The way she smiled when I brought her flowers, and the way she could go on and on about the differences between tulips and lilies, or…” He sighed. “There’re too many reasons to count.”  
“Did you see all that right away?”  
“First time we met? Heh. I’d like to say it was love at first sight, but nah. I didn’t get to know her for a long while.”  
“I see. Thank you for telling me.” So it sounded as if love didn’t spontaneously pop into existence. There must have been some kind of reason for it.  
“So. Who’s caught your eye?” Now it was his turn to be startled. “C’mon, you’ve never asked about this before. It’s easy enough to tell.”  
“Nobody. It seems to be the opposite, actually.”  
“Really? Well, no accounting for taste,” Jeralt chuckled. “Don’t look so sour, I’m only kidding.” He wasn’t upset—his father had made a good point. What attractive qualities did he have?  
“Still. Thank you for telling me about Mother.” It was… comforting, to hear about it.  
“No problem, kid. I… should probably tell you more, to be honest. But it’s too late for that tonight. We’ll talk later.” He nodded, rising. “G’night.”  
“Goodnight, Father.” Still, as he walked the halls, his mind was active. He knew that attraction was partially physical, of course. But he didn’t think he was a particularly interesting person to talk to, or to be around. Maybe there was somebody else he could ask about that kind of thing. Though… it would have to be tomorrow, he decided, stifling a yawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the 'big moment' is here. You may think it's too sudden, or not really foreshadowed fully, and to be honest I agree with you. I've tried to make it feel as natural as possible, but in the end this isn't really a slow burn story—I had this plotted out from the start, to happen right about at this point in the story. While I'm pretty happy with how it's come out, it's not perfect. 
> 
> I don't think I've actually mentioned how I've plotted the story out in one of these notes yet, have I? This story is going to be primarily set in White Clouds—the only part that will take part after the timeskip will be the last chapter, at least in my current plan. So there's no real need to worry about spoilers, as long as you've played the Black Eagles route up until that point. Though the last chapter will involve some light Crimson Flower spoilers, and there may be a few references I make throughout that have some spoilery implications, because I like making subtle references like that.
> 
> In any case, next chapter we'll speed things up a little, time-wise. I'm not planning to write out all of White Clouds in this work—we'll be covering the highlights, the important moments, and then moving along, since I trust all you guys have played the game enough to keep up with the main plot. Instead, we'll be focusing on smaller scenes between our two leads, and some other characters as well. I've got a couple that I'm really looking forward to, actually!


End file.
